


The Kids Aren't Alright

by ViolentVioletEye



Series: Alone Together [4]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: DadSchlatt, Drug Use, Fighting, Gen, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, References to Drugs, Tommy doesn't do drugs but he gets close it, Underage Drug Use, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Yelling, pissed Schlatt, punching a hole in the wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentVioletEye/pseuds/ViolentVioletEye
Summary: They were screaming at each other the moment Schlatt slammed their apartment door shut behind them.“I can’t fucking believe you!” Schlatt screamed.“Fuck you!” Tommy had shouted back, face still burning with shame. “You embarrassed me! I’ll never be able to look them in the eye again!”“Good! The last thing you need is to be hanging out with a bunch of fucking druggies!”“It was weed! Oh my fucking god, you’re acting like we were about to shoot up!”{Or, Tommy loses track of time, almost tries weed, and faces a pissed Schlatt.}
Relationships: Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Alone Together [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093832
Comments: 15
Kudos: 221





	The Kids Aren't Alright

**Author's Note:**

> TW for drugs, its weed, Tommy almost does weed but doesn't actually, and I don't go into detail. Though there is a warning for Schlatt and Tommy fighting, and they _fight._ Its not pretty. If people yelling at each other, especially since it's kinda taken from a parent and child point of view, trigger you then I suggest you don't read this. Schlatt punches a hole in a wall but he never lays his hands on Tommy.

_Stuck in the jet wash._

_Bad trip I couldn't get off._

Tommy didn’t have friends.

_And maybe I bit off more than I could chew,_

_And overhead of the aqua blue._

He didn’t. He told himself he never would, never again, not after what had happened. It seemed as though bad luck followed him everywhere, and the people he cared about and called his family and friends suffered for the titles he put on them. On top of this, it didn’t help that after all he had gone through he felt disconnected from peers around his age. While a lot of them had their own trauma, especially in the crowds he fell in, none of them had been in a war. None of them had felt the ground rock from bombs under their feet, as they watched a nation _they_ had built from the dirt and the dust get blown to smithereens. They didn’t see the blood, the bodies, the body _parts,_ of all of the people they had loved and hated scattered around like broken barbie dolls. They weren’t stuck with a man they hated with every fiber of their being, but also had no choice but to lean on to survive.

And they called him Theseus. And when they were close enough, when they had stuck around for longer than a couple of class periods, they learned to call him Theo when he told them he preferred that. It was a name that wasn’t his. It was a nickname Techno would call him as they were growing up. It was the only thing he had left of his old life because Techno was dead, blown to pieces while covering Tommy from the bombs, and—

And he didn’t have friends. He had people at school he talked to, people he picked when group and pair projects came around, and they might consider him friends but he sure as hell didn’t consider them anything.

_Fall to your knees, bring on the rapture._

_Blessed be the boys, time can't capture._

That sounded mean. He cared about them like people, sure. He knew about their interests and their families, or lack therefore of. He knew some of their favorite colors. He knew a couple of their fears. Like Johnny was afraid of beetles. Meredith was afraid of being left behind. Heather hated her parents for getting a divorce, Herald hated his dad for leaving him, and Miles hated his mom even more for acting like everything was okay. And he felt sorry for them. But he didn’t get attached. He didn’t get close to them. These kids filtered through his life, coming and going. Classes changes, lunch periods rotated, they stopped texting each other, stopped hanging out—and while that happened, other people would trickle into his life. It was a process, one he knew well after a semester of doing it. They hung out at lunch, before and after classes, he always went over to their houses and never invited them to his own, and sometimes, when the money under his bed got high enough, they would go to McDonald’s and get something.

Admittedly, being at a party where he was about to get high for the first time was a hangout activity he hadn’t tried out yet.

_On film or between the sheets._

_I always fall from your window._

It started when, after school, Trinity invited him and a couple of her friends over to her place. It was Friday, the weekend was finally here, and it had been a stressful one. The end of the semester was coming to a close, and with that came finals. Finals week was in two weeks, and Tommy was stressed. His grades weren’t doing the best, and he knew this. He was able to hide it from Schlatt, mainly just by instinct, partly because he considered it wasn’t any of his fucking business. He wasn’t his dad. This wasn’t like with him and Phil, where he would tear up his grade reports, or even try to forge his own to make it seem he at _least_ had Cs. He always knew it’d be too hard to believe that he got all As or even Bs.

This wasn’t like that, and lately, he had been thinking of his family so much, and his head hurt, and the nightmares were getting _worse,_ so when Trinity pulled out her bong after they had spent a couple of hours talking and laughing and asked if anyone wanted to get high with her, he found himself agreeing to join. It was nothing like in the movies. There was no peer pressure. A couple of them said no, and no one pushed them. And there was no loud cheering when Tommy agreed to try, just a simple shrug, and a promise to walk him through it when he admitted he had never done it before.

He didn’t get to try it.

_To the pitch-black streets._

_And with the black banners raised._

He was just about to put the bong to his lips when there came a pounding on Trinity’s door. Trinity, who was a senior, lived alone. She had been living alone since she was a sophomore, Tommy’s age, she had told him once. So she had no one that should be coming home, that should be pissed upon seeing all these teenagers about to smoke some weed, which was still illegal in the country they lived in. And they had been pretty quiet, so it wasn’t like any of her neighbors in the apartment complex should come stomping over to tell them to shut the fuck up. Either way, Tommy shoved the bong to Krista, who shoved it behind some books on the library shelf, while Eddie threw a pillow in front of it like that wasn’t just going to draw attention to it—

_As the crooked smiles fade._

_Former heroes who quit too late._

He could see the front door from where he was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, and when Trinity pulled the door open, he felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Because _Schlatt_ was standing there, ram pupils blown with anger, horns gleaming threatening on his head, and for a moment Tommy was reminded of when he had stood over the people of l’Manberg on that podium after winning the election. But he wasn’t wearing a suit, and his hair was professionally combed back out of his eyes. Instead, his dark curls were wild, brushing against his forehead with a few strands drifting in front of his eyes, and he wore jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt.

“Where’s Theseus.”

Well, fuck. He knew he was in deep shit because Schlatt usually called him Theo. The fact that he was called him by his full, fake name didn’t make him scared, but he sure as hell knew it made him uncomfortable. He stood up as Trinity stuttered, put off by the ram hybrid looming over her before she situated her feet and glared back at him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Schlatt, what are you doing here?”

Schlatt’s eyes snapped towards him and Tommy briefly wished he hadn’t opened his fucking mouth.

“What am I doing here? What am I _doing here?!_ It’s nearly midnight! Your curfew is _ten!”_

Tommy stared over his shoulder, out at the night, and muttered a quiet; “Oh.” He didn’t have a smart remark for that, because, in all honesty, he hadn’t _realized_ it was so late. Trinity kept her curtains continuously drawn, and he had been so caught up in talking and trying to forget about his upcoming finals that time had become a social concept he completely forgot about.

“What, is this jackass your _dad,_ Theo?” Trinity drawled, and there was something in her tone that made Tommy bristle. He didn’t know what, but he could feel his shields racing up, wrapping around him faster than they ever had before. And he glared at her, opened his mouth to snap back when he felt a hand grab his arm in a bruising grip and he was yanked past her, out into the cool fall air.

_Who just wanna fill up the trophy case again._

“We’re going home,” Schlatt growled, _“now.”_

“Hey!” Evelyn shouted as she stood up. “Let go of him! He doesn’t have to go anywhere, I can take him home if you’re so damn worried about it!”

But Tommy really wished she hadn’t said anything, or at the very least stood up, because she had had the bong before he did, and he could see Schlatt’s nostrils flare as he picked up a new scent. And Tommy already knew what it was before Schlatt even said anything because the rage that was in his eyes increased tenfold.

“Are you _smoking weed in here?!”_

Trinity’s face paled and Evelyn stuttered, before she quickly scooted back, putting distance between herself and the fuming ram.

“No!” Trinity tried to lie, but she shut her mouth when Schlatt fixed her with a dangerous glare that Tommy hadn’t seen since the l’Manberg days.

“Don’t try and lie to me, you little shits! I’m a fucking _hybrid!_ You’re all lucky that I don’t call the cops right now!” They didn’t have anything to say to that, and they were silent as Schlatt turned towards Tommy and shoved him away from the door, towards the stairs that would lead them down into the parking lot. He could see their car, still running with the headlights shining dimly in the night. “I can’t fucking believe you!” Schlatt shouted down at him, and Tommy felt his face flush red with shame. He could feel his schoolmates staring at them, watching and listening to every word as Schlatt scolded him like he was some little kid who had been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “I’m slaving away at work, and I come home to you just _gone,_ with just a text saying you went to some trash’s house, and I’m waiting and _waiting,_ and when I come out to find you _I found out you were doing drugs!”_

“It was _weed!”_ Tommy shouted. “And I didn’t even take a single _hit—”_

_“I don’t care! Get in the fucking car!”_

If this had happened six months to a year ago, Tommy would have punched Schlatt in the face. He wouldn’t have let him drag down the steps, at least not without kicking and screaming. He would have shoved his hands off of him, would have screamed insults and defenses—but this wasn’t happening a year ago. This was happening after he had lost everything and more. This was after everything had gone to shit because his brother lost his mind and a bitch in a mask had just encouraged it and supplied him with everything he needed to blow up the country they had built together. He wasn’t who he used to be a year ago.

So he got in the fucking car, with his face burning red and eyes stinging like he wanted to cry. He and Schlatt didn’t say anything else to each other the entire car ride home, and the air was heavy with rage as the hybrid clutched the wheel so tightly Tommy completely believed he would crush it at some point.

***~*~*~*~*~***

_I'm not passive but aggressive._

_Take note, it's not impressive._

They were screaming at each other the moment Schlatt slammed their apartment door shut behind them.

_Empty your sadness,_

_Like you're dumping your purse on my bedroom floor._

“I can’t fucking believe you!” Schlatt screamed.

“Fuck you!” Tommy had shouted back, face still burning with shame. “You embarrassed me! I’ll never be able to look them in the eye again!”

 _“Good!_ The last thing you need is to be hanging out with a bunch of fucking druggies!”

“It was _weed!_ Oh my fucking god, you’re acting like we were about to shoot up!”

_We put your curse in reverse,_

_And it's our time now if you want it to be._

“Weed is a gateway drug, you stupid shit! Do you know how many people I’ve seen, waste away because they just wanted to try one blunt?! Do you think those people are your friends?! Do you really think they give a flying fuck about you?!”

“I’m not fucking dumb! I don’t give a shit! And it wasn’t a blunt! It was a bong!”

_“That doesn’t make it any fucking better!”_

_Maul the world like a carnival bear set free._

_“You’re not my fucking dad!_ You don’t have any right to tell me what to fucking do!”

“I might not be your fucking dad, but I’m sure as hell the guy that’s taking _care of you! I’m feeding you, I’m clothing you—!”_

_“Thanks for doing the bare fucking minimum!”_

_And your love is anemic and I can't believe,_

_That you couldn't see it coming from me._

_“I’m working my ass off at a job I fucking hate! The least you can do, the VERY LEAST YOU CAN DO IS NOT RUN AROUND AND DO DRUGS!”_

A neighbor punched the wall they shared, shouting for them to shut up. Tommy opened his mouth, to shout at Schlatt, to shout at the neighbor, he wasn’t sure—he never got the chance to find out, because that was when Schlatt turned and punched the wall they had punched so hard his fist went through the drywall.

It didn’t break through to the other side, and it was just darkness on the other side, but the silence that fell over them felt damning. Their neighbor didn’t hit the wall again. Tommy didn’t say anything, staring at Schlatt with wide eyes. Schlatt kept his back to him, breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling. Tommy didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. Phil never punched walls. Techno was prone to anger, but he got it all out on his training dummies. You know, something that was meant to be hit. Tommy had grown up in a two-story cottage. He shared a room with Wilbur. The walls had been painted a friendly yellow, fairy lights had dangled from their bedroom walls and the ceiling. The kitchen was always warm, filled with the smell of his father’s delicious cooking as he made breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, and treats for them to have after school. The walls had been filled with laughter, every piece of furniture was worn down with love and he could recall almost every single one of his father’s warm smiles that gave structure to a kind childhood.

A childhood cut short at twelve when he went off to war with Wilbur.

A childhood he’d never get back if the hole in the wall said anything.

_And I still feel that rush in my veins._

_It twists my head just a bit to think._

“You’re grounded,” Schlatt snarled. He didn’t turn around to face him, still facing the wall he had put a hole through. Tommy didn’t say anything. “You’re grounded until the semester is over.” Two weeks. Tommy was surprised Schlatt didn’t ground him for all eternity, with how pissed he was. “Go to bed.”

“I hate you,” Tommy spat and was surprised by how his own voice shook, how watery it sounded. It wasn’t until he was in his shitty room with the cracked, plain white walls, staring at the shitty mattress that had a few springs sticking out, at the boxspring that was too fucking big for it, that he realized he was crying. He threw himself down onto the bed, grabbed his pillow, and _screamed_ into it. He kicked his feet and the movements caused the spring on the corner of his bed to poke out more, tearing the mattress and the fabric of his bedsheet even further. After his fit was done, he curled up around his pillow and kept it pressed against his face. His shoulders shook with sobs, and he was so angry at himself for crying, but he couldn’t help it.

_All the people in those old photographs I've seen are dead._

He missed his dad. He missed Wilbur. He missed Techno. He missed Tubbo. He missed _everyone._ He wished his life hadn’t gone the way it went. He wished he had stood up for himself at least _once,_ he wished he could have talked some sense into Wilbur, he wished he had just gone _home._ He wished he hadn’t asked Phil to come to that festival, hoping he could talk some sense into his son, only to be meant with the explosions like everyone else.

Everyone else but Tommy and Schlatt.

His phone buzzed, and Tommy groped for it with a trembling hand. He flipped it open to find a text from Trinity.

_Trinity: Hey, tell your fucking dad that if he wants to come around like that again, he’s not gonna like what I do._

He narrowed his eyes and texted a response, making sure there were absolutely no mistakes despite the tears blurring his sight.

_Theo: Fuck you._

He didn’t know what she would have said in return because he blocked her number right after the message had been sent.

_Don't you know that the kids aren't al-_

He dropped his phone on the bed beside his head, buried his head back into his pillow, and continued to cry. Soon, he had cried himself to sleep. His body shuddered now and then, his breath was unsteady, and even in his dreams, he didn’t feel safe. He didn’t stir when his bedroom door opened, or when Schlatt slowly walked up to his bedside. He didn’t wake when Schlatt pulled his one blanket over him, making sure to cover him up to his chin, or when he put a glass of water on the box he used as a bedside table.

_kids aren't alright?_

He was still asleep when Schlatt left, shutting the door behind him carefully. He let himself sigh, rubbing his palms against his bloodshot eyes. His throat was sore, his fist was throbbing, and he wished, he _really wished,_ that he had some whiskey.

**Author's Note:**

> The song is The Kids Aren't Alright, by Fall Out Boy.


End file.
